


Creative Writing Practice

by Klepto_Crow



Category: Original Work
Genre: Awkward Author, Do real life people count as OC's?, I Don't Even Know, I'm so awkward I've come back around to normal, May the force be with me, POV Third Person, The Author is Trying, but I'm self conscious, just a short about my morning, nerdy behavior, practicing creative writing, this is hard to post, trying to push myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klepto_Crow/pseuds/Klepto_Crow
Summary: I was struggling with a bit of writers block-I'd fallen into a long slump-and looked up a couple of tips today to get me writing.Apparently, writing about your morning/day as though it were a fiction piece is supposed to help not only with getting back into writing but improving your overall writing quality.You don't have to read this (honestly, I might prefer people not), but I've been told that I lack assertiveness and confidence so this post is dual purposed. I'm getting a bit out of my comfort zone and hopefully improving my writing.
Relationships: None, Siblings being siblings - Relationship
Kudos: 2





	Creative Writing Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Have mercy on this nerd please.

There was something about the morning, about the soft feel of rumpled blankets and the gentle glow of the sun, that never failed to keep her in bed that extra ten minutes. As long as she didn't get up her bubble of serenity would hold—and her house was only ever this quiet in the early hours.

Already she could hear them, the high pitched squeals of her siblings, the strained voice of her mother urging them to sit down. She knew, just by the tone of her mother's voice, that it had been another sleepless night. It was probably later than she thought. She would have to get up soon, help her mother prepare her brothers online class and sit him through it. Still, she lingered a moment longer in the blissful haze of half-sleep. 

The choice to get up on her own was taken away from her by the bang of her room door hitting the wall. Quietly mourning the peace—tragically taken before its time—she listened to the rapid patter of small feet on faux wood flooring. The squeak of metal, complaining in a way she sincerely related to, and sudden vibration of her bed warned her that the invader had reached her ladder. 

She turned her head and waited. There, no more than a second later, appeared the wild-haired visage of her sister. 

“Yessen, get up!”

Her name was not Yessen, but Yasmine was a little beyond the toddler at this point in time. Besides, it was cute and she couldn’t claim the mispronunciation didn’t make her smile a bit.

The small terrorist wanted to watch a princess movie and had barged in with the sole purpose of making her put one on. No preamble. No please. Three year olds were so demanding. 

The voice of her tired mother came to her rescue—unintentionally, but all the same—calling the toddler away. Quiet restored but sleepiness thoroughly dispelled, she untangled herself from her Star Wars themed cover she glanced out the nearest window. A hazy sky, tinted red just like the day before, greeted her sight. Miles and miles away a fire ravaged the mountains of California. Yesterday her father explained that a family in the mountains was holding a gender reveal party and neglected to put out the embers, resulting in a raging inferno. Where were the park rangers? Isn’t it their job to watch out for smoke and regulate campfire grounds? Shouldn’t they have been on high alert what with the recent heat waves? People could die. Maybe she was being too harsh. Mistakes happen and she was no watchman. 

She swung her legs over the guard rail and began her descent. Half way down movement in the mirror across the room caught her attention. A lanky frame covered by an oversized blue T-shirt, Ghost Recon, repurposed from her father, large enough to cover her bright pink sleep shorts but not the whiteness of her legs. It was her reflection. 

Her feet touched the ground. Familiarity more than sight guided her steps around scattered shoes and potted plants as she approached the mirror. It was an old one, white frame thick and decorated with swirling plant-like designs and covered in sticky notes she never got around to removing. Her hair, a fluffed up cloud of dark brown, would need to be combed but not yet. Dark eyes, nearly black, studied the rest of her reflection. 

Usually the sight of herself gave rise to feelings of distaste—anxiety and self-consciousness at work—but this morning she felt none of it. A sign, perhaps, that today would be a good day. 

Finally leaving the dubious safety of her room she took in the living room scene. She took note of her mother first, a beautiful latina woman with wavy chestnut brown hair and whose adventurous spirit suffered in stagnation, struggling with the t.v. remote. The children were further in the house, at the kitchen table but not eating if their screeches were any indication. Her mother was probably looking for the news, a way to stay informed and simulate travel, as she did every morning since quarantine started. 

Noticing her instantly—her mother was always self-aware, scarily so—light brown eyes met her own dark pair. Rather than communicate in words her mother simply gave her a face. It was the face of exasperated exhaustion, not at her but in commiseration with her. As if to say  _ I wish I were sleeping _ . She understood entirely. 

Objective set, she assumed the position. Feet apart, knees bent, elbows raised and hands down, like a cowboy preparing for the draw, she gave a brief, dramatic squat before returning to a normal standing position. She doesn’t remember where she got the odd action from, she doesn’t even remember when she started doing it, but the intended effect was the same. 

The lines along her mother's face smoothed out, lips curling up and eyes crinkling in amusement. Success. Mission accomplished, she bit the bullet and initiated small talk. 

“Are the fires still burning?”

The furrow between her mother's eyes was back, but not as severely as it had been minutes previous. 

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been trying to get the news on,” her mother responded, attention back on the uncooperative remote.

She hummed and took that as her cue to move on. Turning towards the bathroom she left to brush her teeth. If she was quick she could eat some cereal before she needed to set up the Zoom meeting. 

Not that there was much to do with it. All she needed to do was open the app, input the class code, and ensure he paid his teacher their due attention. Her brother was an energetic boy who struggled to sit still, easily distractible, as most other five year olds are. She couldn’t be too upset with him either, as she was an easily distracted teenager herself. It would be hypocritical. 

Done with the bathroom, she thought out her schedule for the day; Eat breakfast, entertain her sister, set up the Zoom meeting, preside over her brother’s kindergarten class, help wi-”Yasmine, could you take the colored clothes to the wash?”- _ put out the laundry _ , help with her brother’s schoolwork, change, prepare for and attend her own online classes, check the laundry… Not to mention all the miscellaneous things that would come up throughout the day!

Today was going to be a good day. A long day, but a good day. Maybe, if there was any free time later, she could get some writing in? Who knows.

  
  
  



End file.
